Stranded
by DerpPerp
Summary: "...Couple?" Sherlock and John are much younger. They are stranded in Sherlock's car, far from the city. John is nervous.
1. Chapter 1

The rain prattled on outside the windows of the stranded car. The thick drops burst open against the ground. Small rushes of water collected together, lifting the mud from the road around the tires, making it impossible for the car to move. Not like that would do any good, seeing as the engine had died. Inside the rapidly cooling vehicle sat two young men, anywhere between 17 and 25, that resembled each other in no way at all. One was leaning casually toward the other, a smirk playing on his cat-like face. A damp mop of wavy dark brown hair was frizzling from the humidity. His once impeccably pressed dress shirt was soaked through. The other man, sitting in the passenger side, looked older, more mature, and more distressed. His lightly tanned skin wrinkled between his light flaxen eyebrows, and as his mouth moved in dialogue, he almost grimaced. He was trying to subtly back away from the other man, his cheek pressing against his palm as he stared out the window in horror and disbelief. He shivered in his drenched sweater. Thunder clapped, miles away, but it made the older man jump, his eyes wide in terror. He looked over at the darker haired fellow, and spoke.

"Sorry," he began.

"Don't be embarrassed. I used to be afraid of extraterrestrials."

"You're not, still?"

"..."

The blonde shook his head.

"Stupid question."

"There are no stupid questions," the paler one said with a serious tone. The other raised his eyebrows slightly. "Only inquisitive idiots."

This made the blonde sigh as if in desperation.

"You always know what to say to make me feel better, don't you," he said while rolling his eyes.

"I don't see why I would have to make you feel better. You always seem so anxious around me. Why is that?"

"What? Anxious? Me? Around you? Why would I feel intimidated?"

"I never said, 'intimidated.' I said, 'anxious.'" He said this with a flash of what only could be described as a challenge. He was interested in the other man's peculiar behavior.

There was silence as the blonde glared furiously at his knees, the stress of the situation showing in the pursing of his lips.

"Could it be, John Watson, that you have developed what some would call a 'crush' on me?"

The blood surged all through his body. He felt incredibly warm. His skin burned and he felt like he had been struck by lightning.

"I'm just try-"

"No need to make excuses. I can tell when you're lying. Besides. It would be better if you got your feelings out into the open rather than letting yourself obsess over them."

"Sherlock," John couldn't look into his face. "We have been friends for some time now, and-"

"Four months, three weeks, and six days."

"...Right. And, um, I've realized that.. um. Well, I've realized that..." Again he paused. He chewed tenaciously at his bottom lip, furrowing his eyebrows even further.

"You have realized what, exactly?" Sherlock had started to lean closer, placing his hand on the arm rest between them. John hesitated and then looked up, slightly startled to see Sherlock closer than before. He fumbled over his words, each one sounding like a different sentence.

"I've been thinking about, um, us, and, um, as a, you know, as a," he cleared his throat.

"...Couple?" Sherlock was inching even closer now. The rising intonation of the word gave away his excitement.

"Couple.." John let the word roll out of his mouth. It tasted interesting. Like he didn't know what it meant, but like he knew what it implied.

The two had shifted so close together now that the heat from their burning cheeks bounced off each other. One looked into the other's eyes, and the other glanced down at the lips that were suspended in the area between them, edging nearer, asking for something. Then they kissed. And all the heat from within them burst into the car, melting together. They twisted their hands and pulled each other in, erasing the emptiness that kept them apart. Their mouths moved together as both of them craved more. They tasted the cold. They tasted the flesh and blood. One hummed in appreciation and desire. The other chuckled and smiled, and began to push himself to lower them down onto the seats. By now, the collective moisture of their heavy breathing had fogged up the windows, battling the cold rain on the other side. Sherlock, who had perched himself on top of John, ravaged on. He attacked his neck and shoulder with his teeth and tongue, leaving tiny spots where capillaries had burst. He moved down and tore off the drying sweater, exposing John's skin to the cool air. John made a little whimpering sound at the sudden temperature change, making Sherlock giggle with delight.

* * *

By the end of the rainstorm, the two had exhausted themselves, their skin sticky, their lips blistered and almost bleeding, and their hearts beating savagely inside their chests.


	2. Chapter 2

Here's mah story. It's a drunk one. In fact, I wrote it drunk. In fact, I'm still drunk. Hee. Enjoy.

_Sober edit: _I changed the ending because the original was boring and undescriptive.

* * *

"Sherlock, you're drunk."

"No, I'm not. You are. Think I can't see those little canaries flying around your head?"

John swatted at his hair.

"There are no canaries on my head. Stop that." Sherlock put his hand to his mouth and turned away quickly. "Are you laughing at me? This is not a laughing matter, I'll have you know. Asshole."

Sherlock turned again to face John. He all of a sudden looked very serious.

"I am not making fun of you. I'm expressing amusement in your _adorable_ antics."

"_ADORABLE?_" John looked positively shocked. "ADORABLE?" He repeated, even more loudly than before.

"SHH..." Sherlock looked around, his finger close to his lips. "You'll wake the building."

"The only one that can hear us is Mrs. Hudson." John waved his hand and rolled his eyes. "She doesn't give two sheets about us making ruckus."

"She does, indeed. Remember last week when we tried to sneak in through the window? And we ended up breaking that lamp and table? She was more upset about the noise than the fact that we were out past curfew and had committed a breaking and entering. And when I say, 'breaking,' I mean breaking."

"Oh, tut." Sherlock made a face at this. "Sherlock, if she cared even remotely about us drinking and having our own little _carousel_, do you think she would have let us walk right past her desk with a not-so-well-hidden bottle of booze tucked in your shirt?" He flung his arm to the left of him where said bottle stood innocently, almost half consumed. For a few moments, as Sherlock watched with amusement, John fumbled, trying to get a hold of the bottle. When he finally caught it, he drew it up to his mouth with vigor, and began gulping down the moderately cheap liquor.

"Oh, posh." John made a face at this. "John, she so obviously disapproves. My point is that we may have to suffer the consequences. Maybe not the traditional ones, but the passive-aggressive poppycock-" John choked on his drink, "Be serious, John. The chores we will have to do in the morning, when we have mind numbing hangovers, will be worse than any disciplinary action that could be taken against us."

"Just live a little."

"I am. I'm the one who suggested this."

"Then why are you trying to get me to stop drinking?"

"I'm not, I just don't think we should be making such disturbing noises."

"I'm not." And to prove a point, John whispered, "I think I'm nearly done, anyway. I'm all dizzy. Can't keep my head up straight."

"I've noticed." John was indeed swaying his body in circular motions while attempting to hold the bottle straight. Before he could drop it and spill it all over the dorm rug, which would come out with the help of their parents' paychecks, Sherlock plucked the bottle from his roommate's hand and continued to inebriate himself. He let go of the bottle with a small onomatopoeia and sighed in satisfaction. "This will do for now."

"Gimmie." John reached for the bottle.

"No, you're drunk enough." Sherlock swatted John's hand away and continued to drink.

"You selfish bastard!"

"SHH"

"I'll show you how to SHH"

"You're not making any sense any more"

John was leaned over, flailing his arms in a vicious effort to confiscate the bottle, but Sherlock would have none of that. He gulped half of what was left in a few quick seconds, leaving John dumbstruck.

"Asshole." Sherlock stopped and handed the bottle back to John.

"Here." John beamed.

"Aww, you shouldn't have." He began nursing at the bottle again. Within a few minutes, he had finished it off. "That's not very strong stuff, is it?"

Sherlock shrugged. "No, not really. I only feel slightly buzzed. You, however, are such a lightweight. Look at you." John huffed.

"What _about_ me? Got a problem with _this_?" John held the empty bottle in one hand while he used to other to refer to himself. Sherlock grinned.

"I most absolutely do not."

"Stop it. You're making me blush."

"Are you sure that's not due to your drunken state?"

"Shut up."

Sherlock threw his hands up. "I jest."

"You 'jest'? What, are you Hamlet again? Explains the skull."

"I prefer to be called Belial, if you don't mind."

"Ugh, there you go again with weird references. What is it this time, another Shakespeare? Something more recent? Shelley? Give me a hint."

"You should know this, for shame, John Watson." Sherlock flicked John's forehead, causing the latter to cry out. "I read this one from Milton, though it exists outside his poem."

"Whatever, you're such a toss pot."

"A toss pot? Oh, dear, I'm afraid I have offended you." Sherlock gave a mock bow, which was difficult due to the fact that he was lounging on the floor. And the fact that he was actually pretty drunk.

"You're slurring!" John pointed and laughed. "You are so drunk, Sherlock!"

Sherlock's face turned foul. "Am not!"

"Are, too!"

"That's not English!"

"You're not English!"

"AAARGH"

Sherlock lunged at John, sending the bottle rolling under the bed. They were in a mess of limbs, their bodies burning with inebriation. John was laughing and Sherlock was grumbling as they each vied for the higher position. They tumbled around the room, John even bit Sherlock, and Sherlock dug his perfectly manicured nails into John's shoulders.

"Ah, you scoundrel!"

"AVAST"

"AN GARDE"

"WHAT"

"I DON'T SPEAK FRENCH"

"OBVIOUSLY"

There was a hideous banging sound at their door. They both immediately stopped to answer. Well, John more or less wiggled his way to the door as Sherlock completely disappeared.

Before John could open the door the stern voice of Mrs. Hudson rang clearly though.

"If you two don't stop making that awful racket, I shall have to come in there, and trust me, boys, you don't want that. Now settle down!" With that, she left. They heard the quiet but somehow menacing click click of her kitten heels as she returned to her desk at the end of the hall.

Sherlock poked his head from under the bed and the two boys looked at each other with blank expressions. Their faces broke into grins and they silently tackled each other once again.

* * *

The next morning, after having dozed off to the call of chirping birds, John and Sherlock were roused at precisely 6:30, a good two hours after they had fallen asleep, by a bustling Mrs. Hudson. She required their assistance with some heavy lifting that her good for nothing son-in-law had abandoned. The two boys clutched their aching heads in their hands, and John groaned at the morning light. Whatever, it was worth it.


	3. Updated Update

Hey, guys. I'm going to add more to this, but I want to get it all sorted before publishing, so please be patient, check back every once in a while, and I'll have it all up as soon as possible!

XOXO

Derpyherpy-booboo-twinklestardust-burp

Addition:

For those interested, I want to know if I should write the rest of this as a mystery or as a romance. Which shall it be?

Let me knooooooow!


End file.
